Taking Liberties
by fleeterberry
Summary: A drunk John needs a ride home... Creese Complete


Taking Liberties  
Fleeterberry  
Spoilers: None  
Disclaimer: Not even going to get into all the reasons why I wouldn't claim responsibility!

Tuesday nights were usually quiet. Jos and Taylor rarely had any activities planned. Mostly she would sit on the couch with her laptop or the TV on while he sat at the dining room table and worked on his homework. Since her demotion to patrol, she enjoyed the reliability of seeing her son head off to sleep.

She hadn't yet followed her son's lead when her phone rang just before midnight. Force of habit made her look at the screen, knowing at that late hour there were only two people who would call her, both of which had blocked numbers. Although the idea of ignoring it always crossed her mind, she never did. "What's up?"

Rather than the voice that was usually welcome, no matter why he was calling, it was Finch. A somewhat annoyed Finch at that. "Ms. Carter, I was hoping you might have a few minutes to spare this evening."

With a sigh and eyes rolled at no one, she responded in a tone she knew didn't hide her annoyance. "I assume you didn't just call to chat."

Hesitation. That was strange. With the type of work they did, Finch rarely bothered to mince words no matter how irritated she was with him.

"This is not work related, per se, so if you're otherwise occupied," his voice trailed off, giving her the out she always wanted yet never got.

But her curiosity was piqued, both by Finch's uncharacteristic passivity and by his statement that he was not calling about work. "I've got time. What do you need?"

Again with the hesitation. "It's Mr. Reese, actually."

Curiouser and curiouser.

Jos scooted to the edge of the couch, setting her laptop on the coffee table before making her way to the kitchen to scribble a note for Taylor in case he woke up and wondered where she'd gone.

"Mr. Reese was in a bad mood today so I gave him the evening off. Normally I wouldn't ask, except I'm busy with something at the moment." Something which John would be doing under other circumstances, she knew. "Rather than his more routine activities, I'm afraid Mr. Reese has been drinking rather heavily for several hours and frankly, he tends to get into fights when he drinks."

Her mind flashed to the night she'd met John, the homeless drunk who'd taken on a gang in a subway car. Yeah, she could understand why Finch might want to avoid something like that.

"I was hoping you might be available to offer him a ride home. He has the car with him."

She wanted to laugh at the idea of a drunk John needing a sober ride home. He could handle himself in a bar brawl, she knew, even intoxicated. But there was nothing funny about Finch's request, about what he wasn't saying. He was worried. John had been acting strangely enough to merit the evening off and then proceeded to do something even more strange.

Slipping her jacket on, Jos stepped into the hallway, locking the deadbolt behind her. "Where is he?" Even if she had been inclined to refuse, which she wasn't, as a cop she wasn't about to let a drunk man drive himself home.

#####

He'd chosen a dive bar, a fact which wasn't at all surprising. He didn't drink to excess often, in fact, only twice that she knew about, and if he was in a devil-may-care type of mood, it only made sense that he'd pick a bar where no one would bother calling the cops if a fight broke out. Pushing through the heavy wooden door, she couldn't help but admit it was far more comfortable than those high-end hipster hangouts she usually wound up at with friends. It was dark enough that it took a moment for her eyes to adjust even coming in from the darkness of night. The ancient jukebox against the back wall played an old country tune that was older than she was. The bar stools barely seemed strong enough to support a man's weight while the pool table in the back was visibly tilted.

No one looked up when she entered, none of the five male patrons were there to find a date. She spied John easily enough, his wide shoulders leaning into the elbow supporting him, his back to the door. Very strange for him. He was the only man in a suit, as though his considerable height wasn't enough to make him stand out. The other men were blue collar, in t-shirts and jeans and scuffed work boots, bottles of domestic beer in their hands.

John, on the other hand, had a tumbler gripped in his, filled nearly to the brim. The half empty bottle of whiskey sat next to him, as though the bartender had grown tired of refilling it and left it for him to finish. His eyes were half-closed, his face still holding onto a snarl that reflected the mood Finch had referenced.

She wondered what had him this time, which demon from his past had risen up to bite him. Doubting she'd ever know, she carefully eased herself onto the rickety stool beside him. John didn't look up, though the barkeep finally took notice, wiping his hands on a rag and nodding at her in an almost friendly greeting.

"What can I get you?"

She shook her head, then nodded toward John. "I'm here for him." The old man behind the bar went back to wiping down the stained surface.

John turned toward the sound, undoubtedly recognizing her voice, yet his eyes still displayed surprise at her presence. "What're you doing here?" His sour expression was gone, his face welcoming, his eyes still tinged with a sadness they didn't normally have.

"Could ask you the same question. What's the occasion?"

Rather than the schooled blank his expression usually held while he decided how to answer, she saw the uncertainty, the paranoia, and finally trust wash over him. "My mother died thirty years ago today, only family I ever had." He shrugged, forever uncomfortable with revealing something personal. "Can't exactly leave flowers on her grave, so I'm celebrating here."

Thirty years. Damn. He'd been so young. She'd known he'd lost both parents early, but she'd had no idea it had been that early. When he lifted the whiskey to take a sip, she pressed her hand on top of his, forcing him to lower it. "You have a family now."

His eyes darted to hers, inebriation leaving his curiosity and hope bare to the world, but only until his usual snark appeared. "I really don't think Taylor's mine."

She laughed, as always finding his jokes funny no matter the situation. "I meant me and Finch and Fusco and-"

"Yeah, ok." He held up his hand to quiet her. "That's not quite what I meant."

She leaned her head to the side. "Maybe it's not who you would have chosen, John, but it's who you're stuck with, which in my experience pretty much defines a family."

He was quiet for a long moment, looking away as he contemplated her words. Slowly, his hand abandoned the glass, lowering from the bar where it rested and moving toward her. It seemed that he was reaching for her waist, but he missed, his hand landing on her upper thigh instead. He stared at the point of contact for a moment, his eyes mischievous when he looked up, a devilish smirk curving his lips.

"I really hope you're not my sister." His voice was low and his eyes burning into hers.

She laughed again, ignoring the moment, telling herself the warmth of his hand on her legs wasn't making her whole body tingle. "Ok, time to get you home."

He looked disappointed, his brow furrowing while he pouted at her. "I didn't even get to buy you a drink."

"Another time. You've had enough for both of us tonight." She stood up, moving to the space between their stools, expecting his hand would drop to his side.

But his reflexes were always tight, apparently even when he was drunk. Instead of letting the contact end, his hand moved to its original target, finding the curve of her hip, slipping around her to her back, and pulling her closer before she had time to react.

"Come on, Carter, one drink. Relax." He leaned closer, his eyes dropping, his gaze slowly moving over her face and neck, then back up to her eyes. "Have some fun with me tonight."

Fuck yes. It took everything in her not to groan out her thoughts. She knew the man had a miraculous ability to focus and she would love to be subject of that attention. But their friendship was far too important to her to risk it on one night. She didn't want to be his friend with benefits. And John was really far too drunk to make that kind of decision anyway.

Removing his hand from where it was beginning to make its way over her ass, she shook her head. "You're probably too damn drunk to get very far anyway." She turned to the bartender. "Does he need to settle up?"

The man shook his head. "Already paid for."

Thank god for small favors. She suspected John would read far too much into it if she'd needed to pat him down for a wallet. "Where are the keys? Finch said you have the car."

He was pouting again, an expression that Jos sorely wanted to kiss right off his face, but he reached into his pocket and produced a key ring obediently. He pulled himself to his feet, though he did have to steady himself on the bar.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. Of course he couldn't walk on his own. Because she was already tempted enough. With a sigh, she shifted next to him, sliding her arm around his waist, trying to ignore the heat of his body pressing into hers, telling herself she shouldn't savor the feeling of his arm over her shoulders. "Let's go."

#####

John was remarkably cooperative during the walk to the car and even with giving her directions to the home he'd never before shared with her. As they made their way toward his door, she questioned if even that much was taking advantage of a drunk man. It wasn't like she had much choice. She wasn't about to have Taylor wake up to find John there, even if John was on the couch. And leaving John to sleep it off in the safe house seemed mean, depriving him of the comforts of home when he was so upset over the anniversary already.

John hadn't offered any resistance in giving her the address and so she took that as evidence that he wasn't worried. Besides, she rationalized as he fit the key into the lock, he could certainly find a new home without much work, considering the resources he had at his disposal.

She didn't take the time to look around, except for the light switch. She didn't bother getting him a glass of water or asking where the Advil was. He was a big boy. He could deal with a hangover himself. And, with the way his hands were prowling around her body, the temptation would be far too great for her to hang around.

Luckily the bed was right there, easy to find, a few feet from where they were standing.

Except John had another idea altogether.

She didn't even realize he was moving. She was standing there beside him one moment; pressed against the door the next. All the coordination he'd been lacking was back, allowing him to position them just so, one of his forearms resting against the door next to her head, the other hand on the back of her knee, pulling her leg up as his hips ground into hers.

For a brief moment, she lost herself, forgetting everything, existing only as feeling, loving the feel of someone warm and solid and male and decidedly interested pushing himself into her. His breath was hot on her neck, his lips soft, his tongue wet as he tasted her.

She groaned, her nails digging into his shirt, her heel tucking around the back of his leg. It would be so easy, so understandable, so perfect. From the moment they'd met, he'd made her lose sight of everything logical. It seemed fitting then to turn herself over to pure sensation while he did the same. It was a level of trust she hadn't truly shared with anyone in a long time.

But that trust was exactly what brought her back to reality. She absolutely trusted him and he her, which was exactly why she couldn't let him make a decision drunk that they'd both have to live with sober.

She pushed her hands against his shoulders, forcing a modicum of space between them. "John, you're drunk."

His eyes were sparkling, his earlier melancholy gone entirely. He glanced down, raking his eyes over her chest and back up. "Not blind though."

She couldn't help but smile in response to the compliment. Still, she shook her head. "Not tonight, not like this."

His playful smile faded, a stark sobriety taking up residence on his face as he held her eyes. "Not tonight?" It didn't sound like a question, but she answered anyway.

"No."

His eyes darted to her lips, starting to smirk when he eventually met her stare again. "Some other night then?"

She was tempted to let the wistfulness in his voice promise her something she was fairly certain wasn't true, but she denied the urge. He wasn't making a date, he was simply holding onto the hope that the conversation would somehow result in him getting lucky.

She smiled gently, pushing him away until his body was no longer leaning against hers. Yes, that made it much easier to think. "Ask me when you're sober."

He reached out, his fingers lighting across her lips gently. "You're sure I can't convince you to stay?"

She shook her head. No, nothing would work, not when his erection pressing against her hadn't been enough. "You'll thank me in the morning, if you remember."

He smiled at her, disappointment still evident. "I'll remember."

"We'll see about that." She wanted to laugh at the man who was still having trouble standing up.

"Is that a challenge?"

She swallowed hard, the intensity in his eyes making her question everything, most especially her refusal to share his bed. "Ask me tomorrow then."

"If I ask you tomorrow will you say yes?"

She turned for the door, putting a foot between them before daring to look back at him. "I guess we'll find out if you remember."

By the time she got back to the car, she figured he was already passed out in bed, but she found herself looking back up at his window anyway, amazed when she saw him watching her. She'd never understand why the decisions that were the best for everyone were the ones she wished she hadn't made.

#####

Wednesday nights, as opposed to their predecessors, tended to be busier. Every lesson or sport Taylor had ever played had a practice on Wednesday. Every meeting she'd ever needed or wanted to attend happened on Wednesday. Luckily, Taylor had reached the age of sixteen, the age at which she'd promised him for years that he could take himself places in the city in the evening without supervision. After basketball practice, when Taylor had called and reminded her of his history test and asked if he could stay at his teammate's house to study, she agreed. She'd raised a good, mature kid and she trusted that while there'd be far less studying than would get done at home alone, he'd be able to balance having a bit of fun with the responsibility.

Sitting on her couch, Jos felt lonely for the first time in a long time. She loved her son more than life itself, but she usually enjoyed a night to herself here and there, especially since she'd had so few when she was a detective. But she didn't feel like watching TV or reading or looking at the internet. She didn't feel like doing anything and while normally that would even have been fine, normally wasn't less than twenty-four hours after John Reese had tried to seduce her.

The memory sent a shiver through her, her body reacting instantly to the imagined feeling of his body against hers. Damn him, she thought. He'd known exactly which buttons to press from the beginning. He could flirt with her and toy with her all he wanted, but now, teasing her with the idea that he really wanted her too… well, that just wasn't fair. She was frustrated as all hell. So frustrated, in fact, she was thinking about going out to the gym to work off some of that energy, though she imagined it would be far less satisfying than working it out with John.

The knock at the door was so completely unexpected she actually jumped. It had to be him, she told herself, she didn't get that many visitors. Then again, the few times John had been to her place, he'd let himself in. He wasn't much for knocking. It was probably Mrs. Jamison from next door coming by to inquire if Jos had seen her cat, which Jos never had because Mrs. Jamison's cat had died at least five years earlier.

She pulled open the door, fully expecting the feeble old woman, instead letting out an uncharacteristic yelp when she found herself facing the neither feeble nor old John Reese.

He looked suitably concerned at her reaction, peeking behind her and then back over his shoulder in an attempt to spot a valid reason for her to squeak. "Carter?"

She smiled, blushing in embarrassment. "Sorry, I thought you were someone else."

John was never one to reveal much, not when he was sober at least, but for a millisecond, he looked absolutely crestfallen. The expression was hidden quickly behind a blank mask as he took a step backwards. "This is a bad time. It can wait."

"No, really, it's fine." Now that he was there, she really, really didn't want him to leave. Because he'd never come to see her before with something that wasn't an emergency. She was thoroughly interested to see what had brought him there that could wait until another time. "If it's not pizza delivery, it's usually my neighbor."

She stepped back from the door, waving her hand to invite him in, but John didn't move. It was seeing his hesitation that put her on edge. "Is something wrong?"

"No." He shook his head, his eyes moving to almost meet hers before dropping again. "Yes."

Her heart dropped through her shoes. No wonder he didn't want to come in. He didn't want her to misinterpret his visit exactly the way she would have had she known a minute earlier that it was regarding the previous night.

Thanking her lucky stars that she'd refused him politely and gotten out of his place with her dignity intact, she smiled her most convincing fake smile at him. "Look, if this is about last night, don't worry about it. You were drunk, Finch thought you might need a ride home, let's just leave it at that."

He nodded weakly, his head hanging. "Ok." He turned, but froze for a beat before he turned back. "No, wait," his eyes darted up to hers, actually meeting them this time. "I don't remember much of last night, but I remember enough to know I should apologize."

She didn't know how it was possible for her heart to sink any lower, and yet, it did. "I meant what I said, John, don't worry about it." Now please leave before I start crying, she added silently. Prior to the night before, she'd had no intention of pursuing a relationship of any kind with the man, but now that she'd had the smallest taste of what it might be like, she was deeply hurt to learn that it wasn't even a possibility.

"Carter, I know it might be uncomfortable, but I really need to know what happened." His face looked as pained as she felt and she imagined he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him as much as she wished the same fate for herself. He sighed and shook his head. "I want to apologize for taking liberties with you, but I don't know what I did."

Taking a deep breath, she realized she had a good opportunity to save face. He really didn't know what had happened. He probably just had the vaguest idea that she'd been involved. At least he had no idea how welcome his advances had been. It was up to her to decide how awful the situation had to be for both of them.

"You kissed me, that's all," she lied, trying to spare them the most pain. A kiss, after all, would explain anything he remembered.

He raised an eyebrow as he smiled at her. "That's a shame."

"What?" His response threw her so much that she couldn't even process the smirk on his face.

Taking a small step forward, he held her eyes as he spoke. "I wish I remembered kissing a beautiful woman."

He was playing with her. It took a moment for it to sink in, for her to realize that he was now completely relaxed, that her lie had comforted him. If he thought they were back to normal, then she'd have to be normal too, unless she wanted to clue him in on her lie.

She grinned up at him, taking the bait as she normally would, finding it unbelievably easy to fall back into their typical pattern. "Then maybe you should kiss them when you're sober."

"Maybe I should." He wasn't smirking. He wasn't teasing. He wasn't kidding. He was holding her eyes, all heat and intensity and desire, telling her he remembered far more than he was letting on. He'd been feeling her out, trying to determine how far she was actually willing to take it when he was sober, giving her an out that she didn't want.

He was there. He was sober. He was asking her like he'd said he would.

And he was still hoping she'd say yes.

She dropped her eyes, looking over him, taking in the entire package that was John Reese and admitting to herself for the first time that she wanted him more than she'd ever wanted anyone. "If you want my opinion-"

"I do."

She grinned, reaching for his hand and pulling him into her apartment. "You definitely should."

He moved just as quickly as he had the previous night, pressing her into the door and right back into the exact same position. "I was really hoping you'd say that."

Sneaking her hands between them, she grabbed his shirt and pulled him even closer. "By all means, John, take all the liberties with me that you'd like."

He didn't bother to answer, at least not in words. Instead, he pressed his mouth against hers and conveyed the message much more thoroughly than any words could have.


End file.
